Sadists are the Ultimate Optimists
by The Botherer
Summary: "Poker Night at the Inventory". Strong Bad can't find his way out of the Inventory, and he's trapped with Tycho of all people. This can only go wrong.
1. Aggression

Strong Bad slipped his newly-reacquired shutter shades into his pocket. He had no problem with betting them in a game of poker because he was confident that by the end of the night they would be in his possession, be it by fair means or otherwise. "They always come back…" he chuckled, placing a hand over his pocket.

He started making his way to the exit, only he soon realised that he had no idea where that was. _The Inventory_ was a mysterious room in the centre of a multi-dimensional hub that was subject to doing whatever it wanted. (How exactly can you tell a room what to do?) The exit constantly shifted, and sometimes players would be teleported back to their respective worlds immediately after the game. Strong Bad swore the room had it in for him, because he was always the last one to get home. He looked around briefly, trying to find the helpful red sign that would get him out of the temperamental room and back to his stable basement.

As Strong Bad's gaze shifted, a figure caught his eye. Turning to see the unlucky soul also trapped in the gloomy bar, he realised it was none other than his pretentious not-friend Tycho. He was his not-friend for these reasons: he knew far too many words, upstaged him quite often, and rolled that stupid multi-sided die every five seconds. He also had a weird last name.

Strong Bad was about to continue his quest for an exit when he noticed that Tycho was staring at him with a slightly worrying look in his eyes. He had his homicidal moments now and again, sure, but this look was somehow even scarier than when his eyes turned threateningly scarlet. Feeling more than a little creeped out, Strong Bad started walking in the opposite direction.

"You either have a ridiculous amount of luck or you somehow have some kind of skill buried under that arrogant exterior...though I highly doubt the latter." Strong Bad spun around to see Tycho rubbing his wrist where his watch had been earlier that evening (before poor judgement and one hell of a hand had relieved him of it.) Strong Bad had no possession of the watch at any point during the game, but he did momentarily consider swiping it…before he realised he was seated between a freelance cop and a Russian with a freaking huge gun. Not a great idea to follow through with.

"What the crap is that supposed to mean?" Strong Bad retorted. He tensed as Tycho took a few steps toward him, his gaze becoming more threatening with every passing second. The expression "if looks could kill" doesn't even compare to this in any way, at all, ever. This guy belonged in a straightjacket, in a padded cell, in a mental hospital...underground.

Strong Bad backed up a bit, bumping directly into the poker table. He held his ground as Tycho continued to close the gap between them, putting on the most disinterested face he could muster. In his mind, he looked totally calm…though in reality his expression flinched with each foot the imposing figure drew closer.

Soon Tycho was only a few inches away from him. Strong Bad placed one hand on the table behind him, preparing to launch himself back over it and bolt if necessary. Unfortunately his reflexes were not quick enough and he was slammed forcefully backwards onto the table, one hand around his throat and another pushing down on the green material just to his right. His mind had barely a second to comprehend what had happened before he was being glared threateningly at from only a few inches away. No words formed in his mind so Strong Bad just glared back at his attacker as menacingly as he could, hoping to throw him off. …It didn't.

Tycho's firm grip around Strong Bad's neck loosened slightly, and his eyes softened just a tiny bit. Seeing these feeble attempts to turn the situation around was…amusing. His hand was now resting lightly on Strong Bad's neck, and migrated slowly to his jaw. This resulted in a very wide, very surprised pair of green eyes staring back at him.

Getting a reaction like that was exactly what motivated Tycho to start this whole thing in the first place. To see the smug, overly-confident masked man lose his composure gave him more joy than anything…more joy than rolling a twenty - no, fifty twenties - and destroying the dreams of all who partook in playing _his_ game. Sure it was sadistic at best, but as they say: sadists are the ultimate optimists. While others are happy despite of suffering, sadists are happy because of it.

Strong Bad's cheeks turned red under his mask as he felt Tycho's fingers trace his jaw line and rest on his cheek. His brain could not compute the situation, so he was powerless to do anything but stare dumbly at Tycho. At least he didn't have to worry about being murdered anymore.

Then, just as quickly as it had all begun, Tycho's hand left Strong Bad's face and grabbed the shutter shades out of his pocket. He slipped them on and walked off casually, finding the exit immediately. Strong Bad pushed himself up off the table, scowling at the incredibly mocking exit sign where Tycho's figure had been moments ago. He had now lost his crazy awesome glasses, and more importantly, his dignity. There is no way he would take that lying down, especially not pinned to a poker table.

"It is _so_ on now."


	2. Submission

Strong Bad's hands tightened around the edge of the poker table, his white fingertips digging into the green material. This was what he got for being so _damn_ clever, trying to get back at Tycho for assaulting him a few nights previously. He should have guessed that confronting the psycho about it, (and subsequently trying to punch him square in the jaw), would _not_ work in his favour.

All he could do was scrunch his eyes shut and pretend none of this was happening. Pretend that he couldn't feel a hand running up his torso, while another one tugged mercilessly at his hair. (He was definitely going to get a haircut and wear shirts from now on.) He wanted to forget about how his senses drove him mad, and how he lost a little more self-control with every touch.

The main thing that bothered Strong Bad was that he wasn't even putting up much of a fight. It was like he just couldn't bring himself to stop all this. If you had told him any day before this encounter that there was so much sexual tension between the two of them, you would have left with a black eye. However now, forced against the edge of the table with Tycho's body pressing against his back, it was incredibly apparent.

Everything started to get hazy as Strong Bad found his breath becoming steadily quicker and shallower. He tried to keep as quiet as possible; he was _not_ going to give Tycho the satisfaction of knowing that his plan was working _very_ well. However when a hand suddenly slipped under the waistband of his pants, silence went out the window. A small moan escaped his lips, and that was all Tycho needed. He started to quicken his movements, pushing steadily from behind in order to press Strong Bad further into the table. This got quite a noticeable reaction - every one of Strong Bad's previous worries quickly dissipated and his body finally took over.

The tightness of his pants became quite uncomfortable, and Tycho was only making it worse. His hand started to wander away from the area requiring the most attention and began exploring Strong Bad's back. He twisted and arched his back as he felt the touch brush slowly up his spine. Finally Tycho's other hand let go of his shoulder-length hair and shortly joined in the game of "drive Strong Bad absolutely crazy". It sure was working, but like hell he'd stoop so low as to beg for anything. (As much as he could help it, at least.) He'd just try to be as patient as possible and wait for the mind-games to e-

Strong Bad's thoughts were immediately interrupted when a hand suddenly cupped his buttock, as another began pulling down on the waistband of his pants. He found his face involuntarily flushing as he felt the tight material slide down to his thighs. (The fact that the air was so cold wasn't much help either.) The sound of a zipper being undone was slightly unsettling…but considering his current arousal, it was also a relief. He just wanted it to be over and done with, so he could go on with wiping his memory and possibly admitting himself to a psyche ward for a few days.

Tycho's sadistic nature would normally result in drawing out this encounter as long as possible at the expense of Strong Bad's sanity. However, he was getting quite restless and really just wanted to finish himself off. The mind-games will have to wait for another day. He pulled a small tube out his pocket and hurriedly prepared himself, taking a moment to press forcefully against Strong Bad just in he case he didn't get the idea. Of course he did, but it was more fun this way.

Strong Bad was practically pounded into first time, and he gave a small yelp out of surprise and pain. He felt Tycho's hands tighten around his hips as he began to thrust just as forcefully as he had started. Strong Bad gritted his teeth as he tried to bear the pain. Then Tycho's frantic thrusts began to hit that one critical bundle of nerves, and everything changed. Strong Bad cried out for the first time, and his tense muscles practically melted away.

His grip tightened around the edge of the poker table. He felt Tycho press closer to his body, the touch of his hands becoming a little more personal. He ran them up and down Strong Bad's torso, stroking him rather than teasing him. He pressed his lips to the other man's shoulder, then began planting a trail of kisses along his neck. The thrusts became deeper and less frantic as they fell into a steady rhythm.

Strong Bad began to make an assortment of noises, ranging from growls to moans to weird gurgling sounds. Tycho smiled at the last type of sound that he heard, then promptly resigned himself to scrunching his eyes shut. He could not allow any kind of personal involvement with Strong Bad. This was purely a form of stress relief and nothing else. He had a wife for god's sake! He would _not_ allow himself to find this any more enjoyable than it needed to be.

Tycho become rougher and more frantic again as he realised the entirety of his actions. He braced his own hands against the edge of the poker table as he readied himself for climax. He poured all of his anger into those last few moments as he felt the entirety of his being building up for that one release. If he was going to get rid of any emotions, it would be the worst of them all. Anger had driven him to start this, and he sure as hell couldn't let it happen ever again. Yes, he was going to flush all the negativity out of his system, if not just for a little while.

Tycho let a few grunts escape his lips as he pushed himself as hard as he could. He could feel the world melting away completely, everything becoming white-hot as he strove for one goal. Strong Bad's cries had grown in volume only slightly, but just enough that they started to create an echo in the spacious room. He felt as if he was right on the edge. It was now or never.

The two cried almost in unison as they reached completion mere seconds apart. Tycho stood still for a moment before promptly disentangling himself from Strong Bad and getting ready to leave. Strong Bad felt small beads of sweat covering his body, his energy entirely sapped from his body. He didn't even care if Tycho left or not, he just collapsed face-first onto the table. He soon realised he felt something horribly familiar and sticky against his chest. Great, he'd gotten it all over the table. That won't be freaking impossible to explain to the guys next poker night.

After a few moments he picked himself up, pulled up his pants and looked around for a way out. He saw that Tycho was still in the room, lurking by the exit indecisively. Strong Bad looked at him curiously, noticing that the hint of apology in his eyes. They stood there silently for a few moments before Tycho turned around and walked through the doorway, leaving Strong Bad to deal with his trauma all by himself once again.


End file.
